


Cold Comfort

by junko



Series: Tag, You're It... [10]
Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4987828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worick has a plan to get Nic out from under Monroe's thumb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

Worick had a plan. He had no idea if it would actually work, but just having one felt like a huge improvement. They set up ‘shop’ in a corner booth of a fairly decent restaurant in neutral territory. Worick paid the maître d’ to let him sit there as long as it took. Nic stood beside the booth, playing the part of the Mafia heavy.

It didn’t take long. 

Yang and Delico were there within a couple of hours. When the door opened, Nic glanced up from the book he was reading, a surprise parting gift from Tabitha Worick had found among the pile of clothes. Nic acted disinterested, just giving them a brief nod before returning his attention to the page. After all, this wasn’t the big game, just a scattering of birds flushed out of the underbrush. 

Worick gestured to the space in front of him. “I’m glad you’re here,” he smiled welcomingly, “Sit. Let’s talk.”

Yang and Delico exchanged a look. 

“What are you playing at, Ricky?” Yang asked, eyeing the booth suspiciously, like it might bite him. He stayed standing, and crossed his arms in front of his chest, sliding a hand in under his jacket to be closer to the butt of the gun everyone knew was hidden there.

Nic set down his book and gave Yang a hard stare, daring him to see which of the two of them was faster on the draw.

Worick continued to play the role of a Big Man and ignored them. “It’s probably just as well you stand. This won’t take long. In fact, here’s the deal: you two are going to go back to Monroe and let him know I’m calling in payment due for the sublet of Nicolas Brown.”

Yang unwound his arms and frowned. He glanced back at Delico, who shrugged. “What are you talking about?”

Feigning an impatient sigh, Worick picked up the demitasse of espresso that had gone cold hours ago and took a dainty sip. “I don’t negotiate with underlings,” Worick said, setting the cup back on its saucer. “Go on. Fetch your boss. You just tell him exactly what I said. He’ll understand.”

Even if Yang’s mouth worked as if still trying to get it, Delico seemed to have figured it out because the look he gave Worick was dark, full of loathing. “Payment due,” he repeated, with a glance at Nic. “Yeah, we get it.”

“We do?” Yang asked him.

“We do,” Delico said, sounding like he was barely holding back a spit of disgust. Even though the glint in his visible amber-brown eye made it clear he wanted to say more, Delico turned on his heel and headed out the door. 

Yang held back long enough to shake his head at Worick and tell him something he already knew deep in his bones: “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’re a suicidal bastard if you think jerking Monroe around is a good idea.”

Worick did his best to ignore Yang and took another sip of the ice-cold coffee. Only when the door swung closed and they were both gone several long minutes, did Worick let himself collapse, head down, on the table. Letting out a single, shuddering breath, he sighed into the linen tablecloth. “Fuck.”

#

Monroe, of course, made them wait. Worick had to slip more cash to the manager to let them keep their strategically placed booth as they started closing down. He tugged Nic’s shirt at his elbow. “If he won’t show, I’m going to take our case to the Guild.”

Nic shook his head. _‘Sir’ is a dick._

Worick laughed. “I’ve noticed, but, thing is, they’re the ones that oversee contracts. They could pressure Monroe into negotiating with us.”

Nic straightened suddenly with a glance at the door, and Worick knew it wouldn’t be necessary. Monroe had finally showed up.

“If it isn’t my wayward sons!” Monroe smiled, opening his arms as if he expected them to run in for a hug. Monroe seemed to have come alone, but given the way Nic was on high alert, clutching his katana, Worick knew there were men taking up positions all around them.

They were fucked. 

Still, the only way to go was forward. Besides, Monroe had come. That was something. He must be at least curious to hear what Worick had to say.

Casually, and without invitation, Monroe slid into the seat across from Worick. Instantly, a waiter appeared and deposited a plate of food in front of him. A show of strength, obviously, a way to say, ‘You think your money is good here? Mine is better. And I have more of it. Much more.’

Worick tried to act unfazed, but all the words he’d planned were stuck in his throat.

Cutting up the slab of steak on his plate, Monroe’s eyes cut deeply into Worick’s soul. “You seem to think I owe you something. How do you have that accounting figured, Worick?”

Nic stepped forward a single step. He said nothing. He looked at no one, but Worick found his courage in Nic’s solid presence at his side. “It’s simple accounting, actually. I own Nic. You borrowed him. You owe me for services rendered.”

Monroe’s eyebrows raised as though in amusement. “That’d work, if he meant anything to me.”

Worick actually managed a fairly sincere laugh. “Nice try, old man, but you don’t send your thugs into another man’s territory to teach some whore a lesson over nothing.”

“Maybe there’s another whore who needs to be taught a lesson,” Monroe said firmly, quietly. “If you’re dead, his contract is up for grabs.”

“ **eXcePT i’LL bE dEAd.** ” Nic said, “ **aND yOu wILL bE, tOo.** ”

“Nic makes an excellent point,” Worick said. “He’s not faster than a bullet, but whose reaction time is quicker, do you suppose? His or your sniper? By the time your man even registers the blood spatter and figures out what happened, you’re already dead.”

Monroe’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I could order my men to shoot you both.”

“If you wanted that, you would’ve done it already,” Worick said with more confidence than he felt. “We’ve been sitting ducks for hours.”

Deliberately, Monroe put down his knife and fork. His glance at Nic was long and lingering. Worick didn’t need to check to know that Nic met Monroe’s gaze unflinchingly. Monroe folded his hands and rested them on the table. “Normally, I wouldn’t negotiate with a loaded weapon pointed at me,” he said with that cool smile. “But, you’re right, I am curious to know your terms.”

Worick’s heart hammered in his chest, because now came the tricky part. “Nic has worked for you for two years. I want two years supply of Celebrer in exchange for that time, and we sever our agreement. We walk away.”

“You walk away?” Monroe repeated. “Both of you?” At Worick’s nod, he laughed. “Glad we got the unreasonable offer out of the way immediately. Now my counteroffer. You go. I keep him.”

“No way,” Worick managed to keep his cool as he said it. “You and I both know his contract is worth more than my miserable life.” Not to mention the fact that, without Nic, Worick’s life would not only be truly miserable, but also short. He’d be dead in a minute without Nic.

Monroe steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lip. “All right,” he said after a moment. “A percentage, then. 50/50.”

Worick frowned. “How would that work?”

Monroe’s smile was slimy. “Simple math, as you said. He’s yours half the time and the other half mine.”

Simple, my ass, Worick thought to himself. Monroe would find a way to twist that, so that Worick's 50% would be while Nic was sleeping or something like that. Besides this use of ‘yours’ and ‘mine,’ sounded like a change to the actual contract, and that was not something Worick would ever surrender. “Sorry, no, Nic stays 100% mine.” Before Monroe could react more than lifting his head from his fingers, Worick continued, “But we could extend borrowing privileges. Two years of Celebrer and I’ll loan Nic to you anytime you call, within reason, so long as he stays with me.”

“Oh? Are we only negotiating where Nic sleeps?”

“And who he answers to first,” Worick added. “And reparations for time served.”

“Done.”

Shit. That was too easy.

#

Nic watched as hands were shook, pleasantries exchanged, and thugs slowly disappeared from line of sight. They took the back way out of the restaurant, through the narrow kitchen. There, they picked up the purse and their clothes and made their way out the tradesman’s entrance to the back alley. As soon as the door shut, Worick pressed his back against it and slumped to the ground. 

“I just talked us back to where we started, didn’t I?” he asked dejectedly. He put the bundle of things aside, with the bright pink plastic purse on top, and then rummaged around for his pack of cigarettes. He tapped one out and lit it up. “We got nothing out of this. Nothing.”

Jumping to the top of a stack of empty wooden crates, Nic scanned the area for signs of movement before settling down into a crouch. _Not nothing_ , he signed. _Two years of Celebrer is worth a lot._

Worick sat with his head tilted back and his arms resting on his upraised knees. “I’m out of a job. We have no place to live.”

Nic wasn’t sure what Worick had hoped for, but Nic was pleased with the outcome. No blood had been shed and they had a handshake deal with Monroe. Better yet, Nic didn’t have to live day in and out as Monroe’s lap dog. Occasional odd jobs aside, it felt like a taste of freedom. _You have friends_ , Nic reminded Worick. _They’ll take us in now that our debt to Monroe is paid up. You can work the streets again if you have to. It won’t be the same as before. With the Celebrer, I’ll have your back._

Taking a long pull on his smoke, Worick considered. “I guess I could be my own boss,” he said, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Choose my own clients. I won’t be able to poach off Mama, so it’s going to take some time to build up a business.” Sticking the cigarette in his mouth, he picked up the purse and opened it up. He dug around until he found the wad of bills. “Five hundred and twenty six,” he said. “You think that’d get us a shitty bedsit for a month?”

Nic figured it might. He gave Worick a grin that he hoped was seductive: _So long as you’re willing to share a bed._

Worick started, but then broke into a big smile. He looked like he was going to say something flirty, but then his smiled faltered. “Trevor is still out there. People are going to figure out we framed him.”

Nic shrugged. What happened to Trevor was a shame, but there wasn’t much for it. He wasn’t the first innocent to get the bad end of one gang war or other. Plenty of people must already know that Trevor paid a price he hadn’t earned, but Ergastulum wasn’t exactly the kind of town where folks asked a lot of questions or stuck their noses into other people’s business. The sad truth was that Trevor’s fate would be forgotten in a week. It would only affect Worick’s trade for a short while. Anyway, the takeaway should be: don’t fuck a Tag belonging to Monroe. Worick should be free and clear of any of that. With a month’s rent already paid for, there was no hurry to start turning tricks until everyone had moved on, stopped worrying about slashed faces, forgotten.

Trevor wouldn’t forget, though. But, he was just a Regular.

_If he comes after us, I kill him._

Worick made a face. “Yeah, well, you’d better kill anyone who comes after us, hard,” he said grinding out the cigarette butt into the pavement for emphasis. “We need a badass reputation so no one dares touch us.”

There were other A/Os in town, but not many. More importantly, not one of them was a free agent, except himself. They’d be okay so long as none of the families or the Guild decided they were a problem.

But, Nic nodded. _Understood._

“And we’re still getting your Celebrer from Monroe,” Worick said, slowly pulling himself to his feet. “The bastard could poison the pills.”

Nic smiled. _Celebrer is already poison. The only difference would be how fast it killed me._

Worick stared up at Nic for a long moment. “The sad thing is, that this is you being hopeful. Fucking never give inspirational speeches, Nic, okay? You’re depressing me.”

Nic hopped down to walk beside Worick. _Your negotiation was smarter than you know._

Tucking the purse over his arm, Worick gathered up their things. “How do you figure that?”

 _You asked for a two-year supply_ , Nic signed. _Not a specific number of pills. I go through a LOT of Celebrer._

“Heh, that was pretty genius.” Worick let out what Nic could only presume from his expression was a little huff of a laugh. “Now I just have to figure out which one of my friends hasn’t already heard about this whole fiasco.”

 _No_ , Nic signed. _Pick the one who’s so plugged into the gossip that she already knows we’ve a deal with Monroe. That way she can’t be scared off._

“She?”

_Pal, I’m your only boy friend._

“True that.” Worick smiled. Putting an arm around Nic, he kissed the top of his head lightly. “My very best boyfriend.” 

#

Despite Nic’s advice, they ended up spending the night at a friend of Worick’s so stoned that she kept forgetting who they were and why they were there. When Nic gave Worick a sour look, Worick shrugged, “It’s 2 am, what do you want from me? Most of my friends are still working.” 

On the other hand, Nic was fairly certain she’d never remember their visit, which had its advantages. 

Though the accommodations weren’t much more than a mattress on the floor shared three-ways, it wasn’t the worst place they’d ever slept. And, just like their first days in Ergastulum, Nic slept with everything they had clutched to his chest, including the katana. The only difference now was that Worick snuggled up facing him, rather than spooning. Nic wasn’t sure why they hadn’t slept facing each other before now. It was warmer, comfier, and made their things even more secure.

Nic was actually able to close his eyes. 

Though it only felt like a second before he opened them again, he must have slept, because when he next did, bright sunlight poured in through a broken, curtainless window. In broken patches, lathe slats showed in the plaster walls. Water stains yellowed the ceiling. Some funky smell, like mold, clung to the place. 

Was this the kind of place their meager money would buy them?

If so, Nic would have to learn how to patch plaster. How hard could it be? They’d found a book that had given him language. Surely, there was one that could teach them to fix a hole in the wall. 

Nic poked Worick in the chest, until his one good eye blinked open, blearily. _We need to sneak over the wall and get back to your library._

Right away, Worick’s hand cupped his scarred eye, as if Nic had jabbed him in it. “What? What the fuck? Why? Didn’t we just escape death? You want to go looking for it now?”

Pointing to the wall, Nic said, _Someone should fix this. A book could show us how._

“We don’t need to go back to the library to get that,” Worick said, his hand coming down off his eyepatch to tap the side of his head. “I have all those books right here.”

_Repair manuals?_

“Everything,” he said around a yawn. “I read everything. I was so bored.”

 _Tell me what I need._ Nic sat up cross-legged and considered what else he might do to brighten the place up. Replace the glass in the window? Maybe a little paint. _I’ll fix this. You find us a place of our own._

Worick propped himself up on his elbows. He’d taken off his jacket, but otherwise slept in the clothes he wore yesterday. The fabric was wrinkled. Several buttons had come undone so that he was showing off a lot more chest hair than usual. “Shit. You woke up bossy. Anyway, it’ll cost money to get supplies.”

 _She keeps her money under the loose floorboard._ Nic had noticed the wobbly board last night and peeked underneath. There was at least a couple of hundred stashed there. Nic had seen thick wads of cash so covered in cobwebs that he wondered if druggie-friend even remembered it was there.

Worick laughed. “You want to steal Maria’s money to fix her place up? I don’t think that’s how that’s supposed to work. Anyway, you want to do something useful today, you should get us some groceries.”

Nic made a grumpy face. _That’ll take five minutes._

Worick let out a breath. “Fine. If you can fetch me some good strong coffee, I’ll recite the section for you. But you better pay attention,” Worick said, as Nic was already hopping up to go find a coffee vendor, “I’m only reciting it one time!”

#

As he waited for Nic to come back, Worick leaned his back up against the broken plaster wall and smoked. Maria was sound asleep still. In fact, she was so passed out, he’d gotten worried and checked her pulse. She seemed to be alive, at least, if dead to the world. 

Nic seemed to be ecstatic, but Worick’s stomach had never settled after that harrowing negotiation with Monroe. They were being too naïve or…. he’d missed something. No way had they gotten away so scott free. Monroe had been willing to cut up the face of a boy that belonged to Corsica just to teach Nic a lesson, yet… they just walked away. 

Well, to be fair, they hadn’t gotten very far. If anything, this was a rewind, almost back to square one for them. The only difference was that Nic was more than a level C now. But, they had no place to live. Work was going to be impossible for a while, unless he really wanted to go back to back-alley blowjobs--and even then you had to know which pimps controlled which pitches unless you wanted a regular helping of fist to the face. 

Though… Nic was right, the power balance had shifted. No one was going to be able to beat either of them up now. Nic would kill them.

That was a weirdly satisfying thought.

Worick closed his eyes and went back to sifting through his ‘library.’ He was in the right section now, he just had to locate the exact page in the right book.

#

They were in a part of town less familiar to Nic, but he followed his nose to a coffee stand. There was a short queue in front of the food truck’s window and he studied the menu as he waited. Most of the drinks had fancy names like ‘Velvet Hammer’ and similarly inflated prices, but there seemed to be a basic ‘Cup o’ Joe’ for a reasonable amount. He pointed and gestured, but had to say, “ **daRK roast** ,” before the barista completely understood him.

After paying, he turned, two paper cups in hand, and nearly ran into the bespeckled Dr. Theo.

He looked younger in the daylight, though he seemed to have perpetual dark rings under his eyes and the cigarette dangling from his mouth made him seem worn out by something other than age. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said without preamble. “I patched up the face of a guy pretty desperate to talk to you. A mutual friend of ours…. sort of. Does the name Trevor ring any bells?”

Nic nodded. He handed Theo the cup of coffee he’d meant to bring back to Worick. Where is he? Nic started to sign, but then realized Theo had no idea what he was saying. “ **tAKe mE.** ”

“Now?” Theo took a sip of the coffee and nodded. “I guess now is a good a time as any.”

Theo led Nic back to an apartment building with whitewashed walls and balconies. For Ergastulum, it was downright posh, though there was still graffiti scrawl on the alley side of the building, marking this as Cristiano territory. He followed through a large foyer and up a flight of stairs that led to a wide hallway, a glass chandelier glittering overhead. At a glossy black-painted door with a brass number ten on it, Theo pulled out keys. Opening the door, he gestured for Nic to go inside. “He’s on my couch. Front room.”

Cautiously, Nic peered around the doorway. Theo was a minimalist, the hardwood of the apartment floors gleamed and the sparse furniture seemed to float on its reflective surface. A stiff looking couch dominated the main room and the messy pile of blankets was a jarring contrast to the otherwise Spartan cleanliness. A slender, young shirtless man sat amid the blankets watching a flatscreen TV attached to the wall. The man’s upper body had several purpling bruises. Nic couldn’t see his face for the bandages that wrapped his face like a cartoon mummy’s, only a tuft of soft brown curls identified him.

Theo must have called his name, because Trevor suddenly glanced at them. He stared at Nic for a long time, as if trying to remember him. “Is that him?” Trevor asked Theo.

At Theo’s nod, Nic tensed, ready for an attack. Even though Trevor stood up very deliberately, slowly, his movements seemed more informed by curiousness than anger. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you at all,” Trevor said after a moment. It was hard to track his words through the bandages, but Nic could work it out. Trevor stared at Nic’s tags for a long time. “We didn’t, did we? I mean, I’m pretty sure would have remembered a Tag. Though Mama said you might have been hiding them.” Trevor shook his head, perplexed. “But you’re memorable enough. Did you… admire me from afar?”

Nic finally stepped over the threshold, and nodded. It was true enough, after all. Admiration wasn’t that far from jealousy, was it?

“Please tell me you still do,” Trevor said. “Please tell me those tags are just some kind of sick fashion choice and you’re secretly rich.”

Nic shook his head. 

“Goddamn it, talk to me.” Probably Trevor shouted those words, because Theo raised his hands for peace. 

Nic understood Trevor’s plight. It wasn’t that far from his own. Like them, he’d lost a job, his home, and had no immediate prospects. And then there was his face. Nic was sure Monroe’s orders were to make sure no one found Trevor attractive ever again. Nic felt a twinge of responsibility, but there was nothing he could do about it. “ **i cAn’T tAKe CAre oF yOU. i cAn bARely cAre fOR mYSElf.** ”

Trevor’s eyes remained wide, glistening, his mouth working, but, if he was saying anything coherent, Nic couldn’t understand anything until he said, “Shit” and covered his face with his hands and sank back down to the couch.

Nic looked over at Theo, who leaned against the wall of the vestibule. He sipped Worick’s coffee, a new cigarette smoldering in his fingers, his eyes downcast. Sensing Nic’s gaze, he glanced up and shook his head, as if to say he didn’t know what to do or say either. “It’s a mess.”

Nic nodded, glancing at the door, wondering if he should just leave Trevor to his misery. He wanted to ask what Trevor was going to do now, how long Theo would let him stay, but… the answers wouldn’t make a difference to anyone, least of all to Nic, who really could do nothing about any of it, even if he wanted to.

He put a hand on the door, but hesitated long enough to spare Trevor one last glance. Perhaps he should apologize?

Trevor was looking back at him, his bandaged face an enigma, but the expression in his eyes was desperate and bleak. “Did you love me, at least?”

It was a lie, and it probably wouldn’t even be much comfort, but Nic nodded. “ **vEry mUCh**.”

**Author's Note:**

> And so it continues....
> 
> Thanks to Josey (cestus) for her typo-ing, cheerleading, and general friendship.


End file.
